TLC II
by Ellery Grey
Summary: After a harrowing case, Scully comes down with a bad case of the flu and tries to deal with the aftermath of the assignment. With Mulder's help of course.  The events of TLC, told from Scully's perspective this time around.
1. Chapter 1

Dana Scully lie in the quiet stillness of her living room, occupied only by her thoughts.

'Chicken pox when I was a kid? 7th grade, maybe, when I had scarlet fever?' she thought groggily. 'No, no. Maybe that upper respiratory infection I had in med school...' She was trying to figure out the last time she had felt as awful as she did at the present moment. It was some sort of untold miracle that she was even able to register coherent thoughts at all, given her high temperature and menacing symptoms.

An exhaustion like she had never felt before had taken up residence in her body, invading it along with an unwelcome desire to sleep all the time and totally ignore the realities of day to day life. She was too tired to hold a book and knew there was no way she could concentrate on a TV show or movie. Not to mention that there were dishes to be done, mail to open, laundry to be washed.

Oh, and her job.

Scully groaned thinking of the mess she would return to at the office on Monday. She knew without a doubt she would be greeted by a mountain of paperwork that her partner would have either conveniently forgotten to complete or totally screwed up somehow, God bless him.

'I wonder how many pencils are pierced into the ceiling by now,' she thought to herself with a laugh she couldn't help. Fox Mulder was a man she was certain she would never understand.

Mulder. He was a completely different story altogether. She glanced at the clock for what had to be the millionth time that day, wondering why he hadn't called to check up on her yet. After all, this was only the second sick day she had ever taken in her entire time with the FBI, and she was all but certain she had scared the living daylights out of her partner when she had called him to tell him the night before.

"You sure you're alright, Scully?" had been his subdued response. If he had thought he was hiding his panic in his tone of voice, he was sorely mistaken. She had insisted that, yes, she really was fine, just that she needed to rest, and she had promised to be back in the office bright-eyed and bushy-tailed before he knew it.

She knew he hadn't bought it.

She was an idiot, really, to think she could have convinced him otherwise. The case they had just returned from was one of the most horrific she had ever experienced. Wayne Sutton ranked right up there with the worst of them as far as she was concerned: evil personified. His helpless victims, small children who had no hope of being able to escape from the madman, had been tortured and tormented while still alive, dying painful, terrifying deaths all alone just so the psychopath of an ex-doctor could follow his sordid, fictional agenda of bringing in the age of colonization. When Sutton somehow found out that she was a doctor as well, he began taunting her in the form of notes left at each crime scene. Riddles that no one could make any sense of until the forensic investigations had been complete.

She was highly aware of Mulder's concern for her throughout the case. She was pulling ridiculous hours in the lab, on her feet through two consecutive 8-hour shifts of medical staff at the morgue each day and constantly thinking about the case. She couldn't sleep at night and instead would sit and stare for hours at photographs of crime scenes and copies of the notes left by Sutton, attempting to think the way he did, to get one step ahead of him in a game she was trying desperately to keep up with.

She had been so preoccupied with the case that she had unintentionally skipped several meals. Even when she took the time to actually sit down with something to eat, she would run through the details of the latest murder without intending to and lose what little appetite she had come to the table with. Even with her well-practiced ability to detach herself, she was unable to this time around. When she wasn't in the lab, she was outside investigating in the field with her partner, working in near-freezing temperatures surrounded by snow on the ground. The stunning beauty of the landscape surrounding them had been in sickening contrast to the terrible scenes they would discover with each new victim. She couldn't pinpoint exactly when it had began, but she had started coming down with symptoms of her cold about mid-way through the case.

When they had finally caught Sutton, he was in the middle of performing one of his barbaric surgeries. Officers had swarmed the scene, gathering enough evidence to lock the bastard away until kingdom come and ensuring he would, at the very least, spend the remainder of his pathetic life rotting away in a jail cell. As Sutton had been led away to the waiting patrol car, he had struggled against the arresting officers and made a point of addressing her directly, a disgusting snarl of a smile draped over his face. "Agent Scully, it's about damn time. Shame on you! You could have prevented a lot of sufferin' if you had been on your game!" He had been shoved into the waiting patrol car mid-rant, still hollering and making a fuss for anyone that would listen.

She knew Mulder had been ready at that moment to put a bullet between Sutton's eyes, but she considered that kind of death too good for him. She wanted nothing more than to see him brought to court and punished for what he had done. She had calmly wrapped her fingers around Mulder's bicep and looked him square in the eye, mustering up every last ounce of energy she had to silently plead with him to just take her back to the motel.

They had flown home the next day, arriving late in the evening, so he had taken her home and asked her to take Thursday off. She had refused, determined to bounce back and get on with her life. She needed distraction anyway, always had in times of uncertainty or grief. The more she sat around at home the more she thought about things, and the more upset she got. So, instead, she had arrived at the office after a fitful night of sleep and was all but useless the entire day. The pile of used Kleenexes in the trash bin next to Mulder's desk had turned into a mountain by the time she had left for the evening.

When she had gotten home last night, she collapsed on the couch and had hardly moved since, except to use the restroom and adjust the thermostat from time to time. She had made the decision to take Friday off, but it took her over an hour to get up the nerve and energy to call Mulder and let him know.

Her temperature had been fluctuating all day between 100 and 102. She was sure she'd be feeling better after a few days of rest and that a good night's sleep, whenever she got one, would fix everything. As she drifted back off to sleep on her couch, she hoped that Mulder was being somewhat productive in her absence.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Before anyone continues on, I would like to point out that this story would probably make more sense if you've read TLC. Sorry for any confusion I may have caused. Thanks for reading!

What the hell was that noise? 'Phone?' she reasoned through a haze induced either by fever or sleep, which one she couldn't tell. She groped blindly for the receiver before finally bringing it up to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hey Sunshine." His chipper tone made her want to shoot him. "How you feelin'?"

"I'm fine," she replied after a small coughing fit. Knowing Mulder, he had seen right through it.

He continued on anyway, and she had to concentrate heavily to make any sense of what he was saying. "I'm leaving the office for the day... something to eat?" was all she could really understand. She felt like she was in a fog. She hadn't realized it was already so late; she must have been sleeping for much longer than she had first thought. 'Is it already five?'

She also didn't realize she had verbalized her thoughts until Mulder spoke again. "Just about...can I bring something by?" She knew she had missed an entire string of words of his somewhere in there, but she lacked the energy to ask him to repeat himself. It was a thoughtful gesture, it really was, but she was certainly not up for visitors in her current condition. Besides, she was fine.

He made one final attempt, promising soup or smoothies, or chocolate, normally an offer she couldn't refuse. At the moment, however, nothing sounded worse.

She reassured him that she could find something to eat at home and thanked him again, hoping she sounded more conscious than she felt. The truth was, she was feeling worse now than she had in Minnesota.

"Scully," he said, "if you change your mind later, if you need *anything,* give me a call." She heard the sincerity and reluctance in his voice, knew that he wanted desperately to come and check on her, but was grateful he was listening to her for once.

She smiled slightly, thinking about how lucky she was to have a partner who would do anything for her. "Alright," she agreed. A few seconds later she hung up and lie back down on the couch, totally depleted of what little remaining energy she'd had. She fought off another round of chills and hugged the blanket closer, drifting off slowly into a sea of unconsciousness.

She had no way of knowing when, minutes later, the power suddenly went out.


	3. Chapter 3

When she awoke, the first thing she was aware of was the complete and utter discomfort she felt. Her throat burned, her chest was heavy and tight, and her head throbbed. Her skin ached in the odd way it only does when fighting a high fever, and it constricted tightly as the chills, seemingly unending, took her over once again. She struggled mightily to clear hear head, feeling a bit disoriented and unsure at first of where she was. Quickly, the familiar sights of her living room registered in her mind and she felt a tad more at ease. It was almost completely dark in the apartment, which told her it was either dusk or dawn. It was very cold in the apartment, and as much as she hated the idea of getting up from under the warm blanket, she knew she had to crank up the heat.

Sitting up slowly, she kept the blanket wrapped around her as snuggly as she could, a bit surprised to discover just how cold it really was inside. 'Did I turn the heater off earlier?' she wondered to herself. She lifted her right hand to rub the bridge of her nose, the beginnings of a pounding headache coursing through her veins. She summoned the strength to stand up and, on wobbly legs, made her way over to the thermostat. It was still turned on, set to what should have been a comfortable 70 degrees. Confusion set in, but she quickly brushed it off and set it a bit higher, turning to go back to the couch. Stopping to see what time it was on the way back, she noticed the clock above her mantel had stopped. She paused as a flood of dread swept over her. "No, no, please..." she pled exhaustedly, to no one in particular. She drug herself into the kitchen, noticing immediately that the clock on the stove was also out. "Damn it."

On her way back to the couch, she lit the candles that rested on the side table in order to have at least some light in the room. She knew that without heat in the apartment, it wouldn't be long before the temperature dipped too low to reasoably withstand. Judging by the amount of sunlight still streaming into the apartment, however slight, night hadn't fully set in yet, and that meant it was only going to get colder.

She couldn't tell exactly how long she had been lying on the couch, but she knew she couldn't handle the cold any longer. She was delirious, and feeling worse than she had at any point since coming down with this ailment. She couldn't think straight and was having a hard time concentrating on anything other than staying warm. She accepted defeat easily, something she knew was another indication of just how sick she really was. Without so much as a second thought, she picked up the phone and dialed the only person she wanted to take care of her.

Her partner picked up after the first ring.

"Yeah. Sorry." He sounded gruff and mildly irritated. She was having second thoughts about calling him.

Had it not been for the mounting dizziness and naseua building within her, she would have hung up. "Mulder?" she managed to eek out.

"Scully?" he replied. His voice had become so soft and gentle that she was questioning whether she had even heard it at all.

"Mulder?" she asked again.

"Yeah, Scully, I'm here."

She fought through chattering teeth to continue. "Mulder, can I come over?" She rambled on, and she knew she was stIll talking, but for the life of her had no idea what she was actually saying. She only stopped when she was forced to by a wracking cough.

The next thing she knew, he was telling her to stay where she was and that he was on his way to come get her. He asked her a question, she could tell from the inflection of his voice, but once again, she couldn't understand what he was saying. She could only think to respond with a half-hearted "yeah," lacking the energy and coherence to do anything else. She hated feeling as vulnerable as she did at that moment, and though she had no doubt of her partner's respect for her, she didn't want to be a burden. She felt as though she could burst into tears at any moment. "Please hurry, Mulder."

After she hung up, she was overcome with cold. Her skin was covered in goose bumps and felt drawn and taught, as her body struggled to keep her warm. She broke into a cold sweat, the drying persperation only making her feel even more cold. She felt as though she had ice running through her veins, and she was beginning to shake with chlls. The rational, medical doctor side of her knew that her body was fighting the fever, that physically she was doing all she could to recover. However, she couldn't tamp down the panic that was slowly rising within her. The aches, pains, exhaustion, and, though she was wont to admit it, the trauma from the last case, had all gotten to her. She felt as though she had no more fight left in her, and was grateful she could turn to her partner for strength and refuge.

Giving in to her desire for warmth and comfort, she quickly stripped down and got in the shower, turning the water on as hot as she could stand it, ignoring the small, screaming voice in the back of her head that told her she knew better. The hot water, though a temporary fix for her symptoms, would only end up making her body fight harder to regulate her temperature. She didn't care about that at the moment though, surrendering with abandon to the steamy spray and relishing in the way it soothed her muscles and cleared the tightness and congestion in her chest.

She stood under the water as long as she could, dizziness and a lack of energy to stand up any longer forcing her out before she wanted to be. In a daze, she turned off the shower and toweled off, the chills she had experienced earlier returning triple-fold. She dressed as fast as she could, throwing on a long-sleeved white thermal top and her thickest pair of pajama pants, blue flannel and instantly warming, though she was still trembling.

She was towel drying her hair when she realized she wouldn't be able to use her blow dryer. She wanted to shoot herself. 'Way to go, Dana,' she admonished herself. Fighting tears, she grabbed her cell phone from the living room, climbed into her bed and got under the covers, figuring it would be the warmest place to wait until Mulder arrived. She closed her eyes, but made an effort to listen for her partner's knock. She was sure he was hurrying, but it already felt like it had been an eternity since she had called him.

She was startled later when she heard her partner call her name. "Scully?"

"Mulder?" She wanted to cry, she was so out of it. She hadn't even heard him come in. She watched from her cocoon of sheets and linens as he slowly approached the bed. She could see fear and concern etched into her partner's features and instantly felt guilty. 'I shouldn't have bothered him.'

She held her breath as he fell to his knees next to the bed frame, allowing herself to take comfort in his touch as he gently pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, then became worried once more when his expression changed from concern to panic. "Scully, why is your hair all wet?" He was whispering, and she had to strain to hear him, but as soon as the words left his mouth, she felt her guilt increase ten-fold. She couldn't stop the flood of emotion that took over, fighting with all of her strength to keep it together and not break down over something that she knew, rationally, was so silly.

"I was so c-c-cold Mu-Mulder." She felt like she owed him an explanation for her stupidity. "I got in the shower to try and w-warm up..." Once again, she knew she continued talking, but she lost track of her own thoughts and couldn't even concentrate on what she was saying. She continued to babble until Mulder shushed her.

"Shhh. Okay, okay. It's alright." He was running his hand over her hair, trying to calm her down. "Try and take some deep breaths for me, ok? We're gonna get you someplace warm and let you rest. Just try and relax." At his reassurances, she immediately felt at peace, having complete faith and trust in him to take care of her and help her get well. She tried desperately to follow his instructions of breathing deeply. "I'm gonna get a few things together first though, if that's okay." She could only nod in response. Truth be told, he could have asked her to sing the national anthem in her birthday suit and she would have complied, she was so out of it.

She could hear him rummaging around in her dresser drawers and in her bathroom, no doubt filling her overnight bag with essentials that she would need while staying at his place. In true Scully fashion, despite her current condition, she couldn't help praying that the bathroom was still relatively clean from the last time she had been able to give it a good scrub. It was such a ridiculous thought that she wanted to laugh, the delirium setting in and grabbing hold of her firmly. As she was trying to remember the last time she had rendezvoused with the Scrubbing Bubbles, her partner's voice snapped her back to reality once more.

"Alright, Scully, can you get up?" She felt him help her as she very slowly rose to a sitting position, fighting with all of her strength to ward off the chills. She felt as though she were moving in slow motion, and she was suddenly struck by a dry, stale taste in her mouth. Somehow, her tennis shoes had made it onto her feet and she was walking slowly towards her front door. Mulder stopped her by the entryway and helped her put her trench coat on, followed by her scarf. She felt like a child being dressed by her mother before going out to play in the snow. Mulder reached for the doorknob, then stopped as if having second thoughts, then took off his own jacket. She was about to question his actions when he wrapped the garment around her like a blanket, zipping her up and placing the hood over the mass of wet curls atop her head. She stood and waited while he blew out the candles she had lit earlier. She knew they were ready to go when he placed his hand on the small of her back. It was a familiar touch that made her feel a tad bit better, as silly as she knew that was.

He said something to her about being out front, but she could only focus on putting one foot in front of the other. She was slightly puzzled to see snow on the ground as they made their way to Mulder's car. 'When did it start snowing?' she wondered. The next thing she knew, she was sitting in the passenger seat of her partner's car, buckled in securely with heat from the air vents blasting at her from every direction. She could feel his hand on her knee, a comforting and welcome presence, along with his words. "Alright, Scully. You're gonna be alright. Everything's alright."

She believed him.


	4. Chapter 4

Within minutes, perhaps seconds, of getting into her partner's car, Dana Scully had fallen asleep. Her body, long ago consumed by exhaustion and fatigue, had given in, and now, knowing she was in the care of the person she trusted most in the world, her mind followed suit and she let go of consciousness. In all reality she doubted it had been much of a choice. She had never been one to give up easily, had in fact rarely done so, but her final cognizant thoughts had been spent telling herself that she was safe now, in Mulder's care; that he would take the reins from here and make it all go away, her pride be damned.

The next thing she knew, he was tucking her hair behind her ear, his gentle touch at once startling her awake and reassuring her. She realized that the gentle motion of the car had ceased, that he had come around to her side of the vehicle. She could hear his voice, also reassuring in its strength and familiarity, but struggled to understand the words he was projecting with it.

"Upstairs," was the only discernible word.

'Upstairs?' she thought. 'Why don't we just run a marathon, while we're at it?' She tried to tell him she had no energy, that there was no way she could get out of the car, but it came out as more of an "uuuhhhggg" with a string of nonsense following it, and she would have been mortified if she'd had the strength. Her tongue felt like thick, wet cement and she couldn't coordinate enough to get her thoughts from her brain to her mouth, let alone get her legs to cooperate with her..

Relief flooded her as soon as she felt his arm slip under her legs, lifting her up and out of the seat, and she mustered every last bit of strength she had to wrap her arms around his neck.. Her feet touched the ground, and for a moment she wanted to cry. Before she had any chance to, she felt Mulder swoop her up again and her hands found their way around his neck, snuggling in and squeezing him even tighter in hopes he wouldn't set her down again.

When she was growing up, she had always shared a bedroom with Melissa. Anytime she had a nightmare or got scared in the middle of the night, she would crawl in bed with Missy and, wordlessly, her sister would make room for her and cover her up with the blankets. The safety and love she felt in those moments, that only a big sister could provide, was enough to lull her back to a peaceful sleep for the rest of the night. Unless her father was home on leave from the Navy.

When Ahab was home, she'd tip-toe into her parents' bedroom and curl up with a blanket on the floor beside his bed, as the Scully children had never been allowed to climb in. There on the hardwood she always found a inexplicable sense of security, comforted just by Ahab's presence and the sound of her parents' breathing.

Without fail, she would wake up in her father's arms as he carried her back to her own bed in the middle of the night. His strong arms holding her protectively, the slight-yet-noticeable smell of his aftershave, laundered sleep shirt, and whiskey night cap combining to form a scent that she had always identified as that of 'Daddy,' there was no other place in the world where she felt as safe as she had in those moments. Every time he would tuck her in tight, kiss her on the forehead, and wish her sweet dreams, all while trying to hide the gleam of amusement in his eye.

Now, cradled by a different set of strong arms, she felt awash once again in the same feelings of love and safety, knowing that she was protected and secure. Instead of Old Spice and Jameson, the scent the surrounded her now was Brut and sunflower seeds, the scent just as recognizable to her now as Ahab's had been., and every bit as comforting.

She felt a bit of jostling, and then... nothing.

His voice brought her back to reality. She had no idea where she was, or what was going on around her, but it didn't matter, because he was there.

"Mmmuuuhhhlllll..." was her pathetic attempt to beg him not to leave her. He quietly shushed her and she could feel tugging on her arms, her warm jackets being divested, before she felt her body lower to a lying position. The surface was soft and cushy, and she was once again surrounded by Mulderscent. 'Bed,' she realized. Another round of the chills struck her and she wanted nothing more than for Mulder to hold her again and make it stop.

"Scully... temperature..." His voice came to her now in fragments, bits and pieces that she tried so desperately to decipher. She opened her mouth, hoping he had a thermometer waiting for her, but was still surprised to feel the metallic tip sliding under her tongue ever-so delicately. His hand came to rest on her forehead, then moved gently downwards to wipe away the tears she didn't even notice she was shedding. Once again, she heard the soft rumble of his voice, and though his words escaped her once again, she was comforted by them.

Beeping noises brought her back towards reality, hazed as it was, and then she was sipping at a glass of water. She felt completely detached from herself, and it would have been frightening if she'd had the capacity to process anything.

More rumbles from Mulder, and these ones sounded panicked, frantic almost.

"S'bad?" she was able to eek out. She was looking at him, concentrating so hard on her words. Never in her life had she found it so difficult to communicate. She gathered up all of her strength and forced herself to pay attention to his response.

"No, it's not too bad," he answered. "But I'm not gonna let it get any worse."

She was slightly alarmed. Automatically, her eyebrow shot up in concern as she questioned him, the words coming out in a jumbled mess, "Whhuzzit?"

She saw him smile just slightly, looking amused, though she had no idea about what. She didn't find anything about their particular situation funny at the moment. She wanted to slug him.

"Just over 102," came his answer. He could have spouted any number at that point, and she would have been able to do nothing more than listen. All of her energy had been spent on the last two minutes of conversation. 102 sounded high to her, but she could barely remember her own name at the moment, let alone what her normal body temperature should be. She knew Mulder would do what was necessary to get her better, high temperature or not.

Mulder was talking again, but the perfectly-formed words coming out of his mouth turned to gibberish by the time they reached her ears. He stopped and looked at her questioningly. She closed her eyes. 'He asked you something, Dana. Think, damn it.' For the life of her, she had no clue what he had just said, couldn't carry a train of thought for more than a couple seconds. She considered just begging him to take her to the hospital, but she was interrupted by more of his gibberish before she could begin to formulate her own.

She wanted to cry when she saw him walking away from her. 'Mulder, please don't leave me!' she thought. She was starting to panic. Had she done something wrong? Was he mad at her? Why would he leave her here when she was so sick? Did he think she'd failed him, the other agents, the victims, on the Sutton case? Was he ashamed of her?

Then his voice returned, its presence comforting and reassuring. "Okay, here we go," then his weight shifted onto the mattress and a cool, damp cloth on her forehead.

She thought she had died and gone to Heaven.

He wasn't going to abandon her. He was going to save her, again. All she needed now was to pull the sheet up just a little and everything would be right in her world. More of Mulder's words, strung together, telling her she couldn't cover up with blankets.. She nodded in agreement, and felt him running his hand over her hair.

The cool cloth had cut through some of the fogginess she was battling, and she granted Mulder permission when he asked to roll her sleeves up. The doctor in her piped up in her mind again, and she knew it was exactly what she needed to start brining her temperature down, but she was bitterly cold. Mulder's gentle rolling and folding was soothing though, and she was thankful for his care. 'He won't leave me, he won't leave me,' she kept repeating to herself, the earlier panic giving way to more exhaustion.

"You okay?" she heard him softly ask.

'Physically? No, Mulder, I'm definitely not okay. But you're not leaving me. So yes, I'm okay.' She simply nodded as more tears slid down her fevered cheeks.

He seemed to accept her reply, and spoke once again. "Okay. I'll be right back Scully. If you need anything, gimme a holler, I'll be in the kitchen. Just don't pull the blankets up."

She lie in his bed, tears flowing freely, but reassured by his promise. 'He'll be right back, Dana. He's coming right back.'


	5. Chapter 5

Left with only her thoughts after her partner disappeared, Scully lie trembling with chills in the quiet room. Some part of her mind kept telling her that staying uncovered was going to help her, but her body ached for warmth. She was too exhausted to do anything about it anyway. Even if she could, she wouldn't reach for the sheet. Mulder had asked her not to. She didn't want to let him down, not again.

Not after failing so many people during their last case. The small, helpless victims, their panicked families, the hard working officers, they had all been depending on her, and she had taken too long. It was a wonder Mulder could even stand to look at her, let alone come to her rescue when she had called him. She had never felt guilt like this over a case, and her sense of self-worth had been blown to pieces. What the hell good was she if she couldn't do her damn job? She didn't even notice the tears the had continued to stream steadily down her flushed cheeks.

She felt his weight once again dip the mattress. "I'm so sorry, Mulder." Her throat was tight with a bubble, sore and raw. She felt frustration wash over her for being unable to express what she wanted to.

She wanted him to admonish her, to tell her that 'sorry' didn't even begin to cover her transgressions. To rip her a new one for her lack of insight and ability on this case. To forgive her, even, as selfish as it was, and to tell her that everything was okay. Instead, his gentle reply shocked her and made her feel even more undeserving of his help and comfort.

"What in the world are you sorry for, Scully?" She felt him shifting and the next thing she knew, he was lying beside her.

She lost every last, withering shred of control over her emotions and became wracked with sobs. When Mulder moved closer and pulled her into his arms, she wanted to disappear into his embrace and never face the world again. She didn't deserve this man as a partner, and certainly not as a friend. She stuttered and slurred her words into his chest, apologizing to him again for making him take care of her. There was so much more she wanted to apologize for, but she was too physically exhausted and emotionally drained. Her sobs prevented her from getting any further, the tightness in her throat proving too much to overcome.

Mulder's words were gentle yet emphatic, she could tell even in the state she was in. "No, Scully. I want you to take a deep breath and look at me." He waited patiently while she tried to rein in her emotions, stop her tears and just be still. She willed herself to be calm. When she had quieted to sniffles and hiccups, he spoke again. "Open your eyes, Scully. Look at me."

She pulled back ever so slightly, just far enough to bend to his request. Through her fevered fog, she could see his eyes search hers in the way that no one but Mulder had ever done; it was at once alarming and comforting, like it always was.

He whispered to her, "I want you to listen to me, Scully. Take a deep breath." She tried so hard to comply, breathing as deeply as she could, the feel of his hand tracing lazy circles on her back helping tremendously to tamp the fear, panic, and sadness down. For the first time in what felt like days, she felt a hint of peace. After she had her head on straight-or as straight as could be under the circumstances-his gentle timbre floated to her again. "Listen to me. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about."

He was out of his mind. He had to be. Maybe he was as sick as she was. She tried to argue, could feel her lips moving to do just that, but her wet cement tongue couldn't translate the words her brain was stumbling through. It didn't matter anyway, because just as soon as she started to try, he cut her off.

"No, listen." His words were still soft, but there was a serious edge in his tone. It was the same voice he would have used to say, "I know you don't think unicorns exist, Scully, but Frohike says he's caught one." The I-know-you-don't-believe-me-but-here's-the-proof-Dr.-Scully voice. Maybe it was the delirium, but it made her want to laugh. His next words brought her back to reality.

"First of all, you can't blame yourself for getting sick. We were in Minnesota in the middle of winter, pulling ridiculous hours and working on very little sleep. And you are NOT making me do anything. I WANT to take care of you, Scully. You're my partner, but you're also my friend."

Damn the man, anyway. There was no one else on earth who could so easily put her fears to rest, to seemingly read her mind and make her feel better, even when she didn't deserve to. He was picking up her shattered pieces and putting them back together for her. Fresh tears sprung up and started to flow from her eyes again, though she felt much more calm now. All she could think to do was bury her face back in his chest and let the tears come, all out of arguments and all out of fight.

She felt him draw her close to him once more, the cool cloth making contact with her forehead as he did so.

"Thank you Mulder." The simple expression didn't begin to cover it. He was her savior, mentally, emotionally, and physically. There's no telling where she would be or what she would be doing if it hadn't been for his help. Time and time again, he was there to catch her when she fell. And boy oh boy, had she taken a tumble this time.

"Of course. Now go to sleep, Scully."

The soft warmth of his lips on her forehead reassured her, made her feel safe and secure, and told her everything was going to be alright. Finally giving in to her utter and complete exhaustion, and knowing he would protect her, as he always had, from any kind of threat or danger, she let sleep overtake her


	6. Chapter 6

Darkness. Complete, total, utter, blissful darkness. She was swimming in it. There was no fear, no trepidation in this knowledge, just simple acceptance, mostly apathy, really. She embraced it almost, was thankful, yet somehow indifferent, to have the opportunity to just surrender. To stop fighting and just give in. She was vaguely aware of some physical discomfort and found herself wishing, even in her disorientation, for a blanket to wrap her body in. Caught in the shallow end of sleep, she felt her consciousness propelling her slowly into awareness.

The first sensation that registered was that she ached. Had she been more awake, she would have moaned at the discomfort of it. It was most noticeable in her back, but there wasn't one muscle, from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes, that wasn't affected. Then she felt her skin crawl with uncontrollable chills, the rawness in her throat, the knot of nausea in her stomach. Something was wrong.

It might have been her imagination, but she almost felt a feather-light touch against her temple and behind her ear. Then she remembered.

So sick. Crying. Fever. Cold. Mulder? What the hell?

"Scully?" His voice, whisper-soft and dripping with concern, calling to her, gently summoning her out of rest, answering her unasked question. She tried with great effort to open her eyes, somehow feeling more tired than she had before falling asleep.

"Muuhhller?" She had no idea where she was. Again, she would have been scared if she held the capacity to care. That and she knew Mulder was with her. He would protect her, she knew without a doubt. Her confusion must have been evident, because the next thing she knew, her partner was soothing her.

His words drifted to her once again, and she clung to them like a tether to the shore. "It's ok, Scully, you're at my place." Something like relief washed over her as she closed her eyes, bits and pieces of the 'whos' and 'whys' and 'hows' coming back to her in just enough detail that she didn't feel the need to question him. She opened her eyes once more, feeling only a bit more centered and lucid.

"You think you can eat some soup?"

'Mulder? Cooking?'

Her face must have betrayed her thoughts, because her partner chuckled. "It's ok, delivery from Bernie's." She smiled back at him in relief, adding to the unintentional tease over his lack of culinary skill. He said something she couldn't make any sense of, and the next thing she knew he was helping her sit up. It was a monumental effort on her part, and she prayed that she didn't look as helpless as she felt, but somehow she found herself propped up in a sitting position. Very quickly, much faster than she was comfortable with, he passed her the bowl of soup.

Bernie's chicken soup. Her own personal 8th wonder of the world. Normally an offer she couldn't refuse. Hell, she'd been known to grab a bowl of the stuff for lunch on the hottest, most humid day in July, just to satisfy a craving. In the winter, all bets were off. She herself had attempted to recreate it at home, and, being no slouch herself in the kitchen, she had always failed to replicate it exactly. Just the right amount of thyme, and she suspected there was a great deal of butter in the broth.

She stared at the bowl she held, and somewhere in her brain it registered that she was shaking. As good as she knew this stuff was, she didn't think she had the energy or the stomach for it at the moment. "I'm not too hungry Muller."

He nodded and encouraged her to eat whatever she could, even if it was just the broth. She shook her head in agreement. She began blowing on the liquid to try and cool it down a bit.

It barely registered in her brain when Mulder sat down at the foot of the bed, facing her. She could, however, feel his eyes on her as she sipped at the soup, hardly able to taste the seasoned, hearty broth she loved so much. His attention made her feel slightly unsettled, though it wasn't anything she wasn't accustomed to. Every once in a while, at the office, on a stake-out, in the privacy of one of their homes, she would feel him watching her, studying her almost. At first, it had been jarring, and before she knew him well, she suspected he had been trying to profile her. Now, though, she knew better. He would never violate her privacy like that, so she just chalked the behavior up to 'Mulder being Mulder.' She did wonder, often in those times as he was doing it, what he saw when he looked at her. What he was thinking about, where his mind went. For all she knew, he was just lost in thought, processing a theory or evaluating information, and his eyes just happened to focus on her, perhaps without him even realizing it. Whatever the case, it never scared her, never made her uncomfortable. It was just one of his little quirks.

Meanwhile, the bowl in her hand might as well have been a solid granite rock. After a couple sips, she knew she couldn't eat anymore, though the taste was heavenly. All she really wanted, though, was to go back to sleep. "Ss'really good, Mulder, but I don't think I can eat anymore."

Saving her once again, he took the bowl from her and she was free to lie back down. He helped her settle in, but prevented her from reaching for any covers. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, and she was just about prepared to beg, but the look of determination on his face told her not to even bother. He walked away from her again, but returned quickly.

"Here Scully." The tenderness in his voice almost undid her, but the cool kiss of the wet wash rag on her forehead was like ice, and it felt good, even as the rest of her body craved warmth. She heard her partner's voice again, and could tell by his tone that he was concerned, but she couldn't understand his words. Instead, she just watched as he picked up the thermometer once again and submitted to having her temperature taken.

How long was this supposed to take? It felt like hours had passed, and she was quickly running out of the energy to hold it under her tongue. Finally, mercifully, the device beeped and Mulder picked it up.

She recognized instantly The Panic Face that appeared.

Panicked herself now, the words flew from her mouth. "Whatisit?"

"It's a little higher than last time." She had to concentrate on each individual word as it escaped his lips, but the adrenaline kick to her system was overriding the fever's control at this point. The next words out of his mouth shocked her further. "Scully, let's get you in the tub."

"What's my temp, Mulder?"

'Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee...' The mantra came to her effortlessly, the familiar prayer from her childhood coming to her mind even in the anguish she was experiencing.

She hardly heard her partner's reply. "103.1. The Tylenol isn't working."

'Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death...'

Even as she continued the prayer in her head, Mulder's words reached out to her, and she knew it was going to be okay. He was going to make it all okay.

"It's gonna be ok, Scully. We're gonna get your temperature down and you're gonna be feeling better real soon." She nodded, it was all she had left in her, as he tenderly brushed her hair back. She didn't even realize she had let the tears slip until she felt him brush those away too.

"Alright, you sit tight, I'm gonna go run the bath. Can I get you anything?"

She almost laughed through the tears. 'I can think of about half a dozen things off the top of my head, Mulder. Starting with a new immune system.'

Instead, she shook her head. "Thanks, Mulder," was her reply. She felt him get up, then the cool, reassuring touch of his lips on her forehead before he left the room again.

This was agony


	7. Chapter 7

She had a vague sensation that she was floating. Or falling, she couldn't quite tell which. With eyes closed, her lids too heavy to keep open, she had trouble keeping the blue orbs from rolling back in her head in a repetitive, circular motion as she gave in to the dizziness that overtook her. The sensation itself was not foreign to her. She had experienced it a great many times, usually when trying to fall asleep after an exhausting day. It was the intensity that got her. She felt as though she were doing cartwheels on Mulder's bed, spinning and spinning and spinning out of control. Just when she thought she couldn't take any more, his voice, confident and comforting, broke the cycle and slowed her tumbling.

"Alright, Scully. Let's get you in the tub."

She felt his arms slip under her knees and shoulders, then lift her body off of the mattress, cradling her close to his chest. She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, the action more instinctual than anything else, but also allowed herself to cuddle closer to him, nuzzling her check against the soft, Mulder-scented shirt he wore.

Whatever reverie she had gotten herself into was broken when he chided her, "Don't get used to this, Scully," and she couldn't stop herself from smiling at his joke. His chest bubbled with a small chuckle, and she wanted to bury herself in the sound.

Instead, she found herself sitting on top of the toilet seat, trying once again to stop the spinning, spiraling cartwheels that retook her. Mulder appeared in front of her, knelt down on his knees and concern etched into his features. His lips were moving, and his voice drifted into her ears. She could almost taste the sound of his voice, and she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of that sensation. Somehow, she understood that the last shreds of her rational mind were slipping away, but she was completely indifferent to that knowledge.

Without her actions even registering, she slowly nodded her head at him, as he seemed to expect a response from her. More delicious words drifted from his mouth to her ears, and she knew immediately that, as long as she kept nodding, he would keep talking.

She was wrong. She watched him as he seemed to stand up in slow motion, fuzzy around the edges, and walked out of the room.

'He left me here,' she thought. 'He left me.' She was torn between giggling and screaming for him, but strangely found herself not caring enough to do either. Instead, she just sat, content to do nothing but exist, almost congratulating herself for it. However, her final coherent thoughts told her that she was going to freeze to death, and with the last scraps of sanity eluding her, she whispered his name, almost as if in prayer.

"Mulder... Mulder... Mulder... Mulder..."

She wasn't sure if she had said his name a thousand times or just once, but the next thing she knew, she could once again taste his voice, sickeningly, sweetly calling "Jesus" as he crouched down in front of her as before.

Then, awfully, wonderfully, he was lifting her again, floating her up higher and higher, and the cartwheels started again. Then just as awfully and wonderfully, she was falling, corkscrewing out of control, and it was magnificent and breathtaking and terrifying.

She felt something warm and pleasant surround her. It was honey and molasses, without the stickiness, and it enveloped her in a warm cocoon. All she knew was that it felt good, and she never wanted to leave.

'Am I taking a bath? How did I get in the bath?' Her mind wrestled with the question and she didn't have any kind of answer.

'Ahab?' No, no. That didn't make any sense. He was out on a tour right now, wasn't he? It just didn't make sense.

"Muuhlllller..." His name escaped her lips before she could stop it, but she realized instantly that he was the only one who could save her.

'Save me? From what?'

She tried desperately to get her mind to work, to gather the clues and make an educated guess as to what was going on. In the back of her mind, all that would register was that she was in the tub, and someone was bathing her.

"Muuhllllllerr... Muuuhhhhhllllller." She continued to chant his name, begging him to come rescue her.

'From what?' her mind persisted, screaming at her. 'Bath. Bathing. I don't know... Bath.' She could feel a hand running through her hair, almost as though someone was washing it for her.

It hit her suddenly, like a hammer right on the head of a nail in a violent blow.

'Is your hair normal, or dry?'

She wanted to scream, to get up and run, to find her gun and shoot the bastard where he stood, but she was so tired. Her body wouldn't obey the commands her brain was sending it. She was helpless, and she had never felt so terrified in her entire life.

"Pfaster," she said, trying to keep the bile out of her throat and the disgust in her tone. She failed on both counts.

Someone responded, but she didn't recognize the words or the voice that spoke them. She briefly thought that, perhaps, Pfaster had morphed once again into Satan himself, that it was responsible for the difference in cadence and accent. She knew better though, knew that it wasn't possible. The voice was too familiar, too loving, too...

"Pfaster, no..." she choked out, all-out panic taking over. She felt hot, burning tears cascading down her face, unable to control her fear anymore. She should have asked the judge for the death penalty, damn it! "Pfaster, you're supposed to be dead."

In a split-second, her captor had lifted her chin to force her to look at him. Her vision was blurred by her tears and something she couldn't quite place, and everything had taken on a cloudy quality, like she was looking through opaque glass. The man spoke to her quietly but forcefully. She couldn't directly make out what he was saying, but it was clear he knew her name and her partner's.

"Dana," and "Fox Mulder," was all she could really understand.

She had the sudden thought that Pfaster had teamed up with Wayne Sutton, that the two criminals were working together to kidnap and torture the poor innocent children she'd been called upon to autopsy. In the haze of her mind, everything suddenly all made sense. She had a brief thought that Mulder would be so proud of her once she told him, that her leaps in logic would save hundreds, maybe thousands of kids. It appeared as though she was too late now though, that Pfaster had caught her and she'd never be able to stop the violence of the two men.

"Pfaster, please, leave them alone! Don't hurt them! They're just babies. Don't hurt the babies!" She was sick with horror, hating herself for being so useless to stop him. "Pfaster, don't hurt them," she managed to eek out. Her vocal chords were strained and sore, but she knew she had to try. "Take me instead," she begged, a final, desperate plea to a heartless man.

She seemed to drift off slowly after that, unwillingly detaching from reality and finding herself unable to do anything about it, or to care that she was in danger. A dim corner of her brain was hysterical, telling her to fight, to be disturbed, and she knew deep down she was, but as much as that small part of her mind wanted her to take charge, her body was unable and unwilling. She felt the tethers loosen further, and all she could do was pray that Missy and Ahab would be there to meet her when she met her demise. She couldn't wait to laugh with her sister again, to hug her daddy, to be with them once again. Death wasn't so scary.

Prepared for that eventuality, she was shocked, yet heartbreakingly relieved to see her partner's beautiful face come into a hazy focus right before her eyes.

"Mulller?" Leave it to him to come to her rescue at the last minute, as he had done time after time. But how? Where was Pfaster? And Sutton? She had to tell him they were working together. Before she could relate the information, Mulder's sweet voice reached her ears again.

"Yeah, it's Mulder. I've got you, you're in my apartment, and you're safe. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."

Suddenly, none of it mattered. Not any of it. If he said she was safe, then she was safe.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to indulge and take comfort in the soft, soothing strokes of Mulder and his washcloth: Down her arm. Across her shoulders. Baby-soft over her forehead and cheeks. As he tended to her, she could feel herself drifting closer back to awareness, and with that, she noticed more of the aches and pains, though they were not nearly as bad as they had been earlier. More than anything, though, she felt extreme exhaustion, and could feel herself beginning to doze lightly, this time knowing she was protected by her partner.

Far too soon, she heard "Scully?"

"Hmmm?"

"Time's up, we've gotta get you out of the tub."

She felt her eyes fly open without her permission, having completely forgotten where she was, and she sought Mulder's immdiately. He had a look of intense relief on his face as he smiled at her and whispered a soft "Hey."

"Hey," she replied, unable to stop her own slight grin. She wasn't exactly sure what had happened in the past several moments, but she did recall feelings of intense fear and dread. She had complete faith and trust in her partner though, and knew that he would make everything right. Knowing Mulder, he probably already had a plan.

"Here's what I'm gonna do. On the count of three, I'm gonna get you out of the tub. Ready?" Good ol', dependable Mulder. She nodded and could only watch as he maneuvered almost acrobatically to lift her up and out of the tub. With a grace and sufficiency that startled her, he turned and lowered her to sit on the cool tile, then reached for a towel that he draped over her. "Sit right there for a second, ok?"

'I was going to start training for the New York Marathon, but sure, since you asked,' she thought to herself. Sarcasm had to be a good sign that she was returning to her faculties, right?

Before she knew it, Mulder was back, and bearing gifts in the form of fresh clothes. He bent down before her yet again and began to push and pull at the sopping sleeves of her now-drenched thermal top. "You trust me Scully?" he asked.

She balked initially. 'Do I trust you? How can you even ask me that?' She quickly realized why he had asked though. He was going to help her change clothes. This was completely new territory for them. He had seen her naked, sure, but at the time she was only half-conscious, at best, and had moments before been encased in an alien-goo-filled container on what Mulder still insisted had been a UFO. There hadn't exactly been time for modesty in that situation. She nodded to him, giving him permission to do whatever was necessary, trusting him completely with the job at hand.

He quickly peeled her top off, and any awkwardness she was expecting simply wasn't there. He was quick, and made her feel as comfortable as possible given the situation. He helped her stand and made quick work of her drenched pants as well, slipping shorts on to her with the same efficiency. As he pulled on the drawstrings on her bottoms, she realized she was clad in a t-shirt and pair of shorts that belonged to her partner.

He helped her sit down on top of the toilet seat while he reached for the plug in the tub, and she was completely startled by the sudden wave of nausea that hit her. The back corners of her mouth watered and stung, and her throat felt like it had a huge bubble in it. Her stomach rolled and churned, and she knew there would be no preventing it.

"Mulder?" She called to him, praying she wouldn't hurl all over him or the room.

"What is it Scully?" He sounded just as panicked as she felt.

"I think I'm gonna... Ohh..." Mercifully reading her mind, he gathered her up and had her nestled between his legs in a split-second, just in time. Like anyone else, she had never enjoyed getting sick- the aches and pains, the coughing, the sore throat- but this? Throwing up easily ranked as her most-hated symptom. Between the upset stomach, the burning in her trachea, and awful taste in her mouth, it was something she could skip altogether if she had any kind of say. This instance was no exception, but she could feel Mulder tenderly holding her hair back and rubbing the sore muscles in her back, doing anything he could think of to help her. Her heart ached with a surge of love for him even as she continued to vomit.

Her stomach finally empty, she let her exhaustion take over and surrendered to the comfort and warmth of Mulder's chest, falling back into his embrace.

'Being sick isn't so bad,' she thought, then 'Dana Katherine!' she chastised herself, her mother's voice echoing the familiar scolding tone in her mind, just as she began to feel soft kisses on the crown of her head. 'No, not so bad at all.'

Still, she felt she owed him an apology. It certainly wasn't in his job description to go rescue her from her frozen apartment, feed her, bathe her, and change her clothes, let alone hold her while she puked her guts out. "Sorry, Mulder," she offered.

He laughed at her words, the action causing his chest to rumble under as it had earlier. "Would you stop apologizing?" he requested jovially.

"I'll try," she answered. "Thank you."

He lowered his voice to a whisper, speaking tenderly to her. "Of course. You know I would do anything for you Scully." His words, and the tone in which they were spoken, made her feel protected, cherished, comforted. He continued, and in true Mulder form, countered his own serious statement with a joke. "Besides, I'd take your puke over a good majority of fluids we run into in the field ANY day."

She had to smile. Leave it to Mulder. "Gee, Mulder, you sure know how to make a girl feel special." She felt rather than saw his own smile at her quip.

For now, she was content to rest in the soft, sweet embrace of his arms, and forget about everything else in the world.


End file.
